


Like a snowstorm, the worst of hails

by alunsina



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-09
Updated: 2014-08-09
Packaged: 2018-02-12 10:51:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2107080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alunsina/pseuds/alunsina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kim Minseok receives a summons from the capital to translate ancient texts and build them an ice fortress. Fantasy au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a snowstorm, the worst of hails

**Author's Note:**

> cw: implied cannibalism

Once his mother told Minseok that he and his sister were both descended from royalty, with lands that reach farther up north than the current empire, who wore robes made from the finest and softest of silk, coffers overflowing they gave away bricks of pure gold to the clans under their care.

“-with fortresses made of ice!” his sister, a younger, less shrewd version of herself would then interject in between retellings and made distracting whooshing noises while Minseok tried to read scraps of fading script by gaslight. He allowed his mother’s little indulgences because believing they were royalty was easier to swallow than the other half of the truth – that they were nothing more than prisoners of war, dirty little bastard maggots of a man who crawled his way out of the slave camps a couple of decades ago. If the current empire was a bit more diligent about wiping them out they could still track down his grandfather’s bones and drag their whole kin to the slaughterhouse or the markets to sell. 

Royalty or not all that’s left of their ancestors’ legacy was the tattered robe that survived his grandfather, the knowledge of their ritual dances, Minseok’s birth name, and the script of their dead language.

In the end it was the ice fortresses’ fault. At least the myth of it.

“Hyung, have you gone crazy? You can’t outright refuse a summons from the Kai!” Jongdae said, waving the letter from the capital in Minseok’s face as if the sight of the empire’s seal would make him consider otherwise. The letter was made from the dried skin of some four legged bovine, thicker and stiffer than cloth, and Minseok wanted to bleach the hell out of it. His sister was always complaining anyway about the lack of writing material to keep their accounts in order. 

“I’m not refusing anything. They need _scholars_ , Jongdae. Proper ones. You and Joonmyun should be enough.” Minseok made to shut the door but Jongdae’s hands (and foot) were faster.

“They’ll want someone to decipher ancient floor plans and blueprints. Joonmyun-hyung and I know cat’s piss about interpreting dimensions. Your reputation precedes you, hyung, this summons practically has your name on it.” 

Minseok thought that helping to rebuild some old building to vaguely resemble their town hall from a century ago isn’t enough for a reputation to be formed on. Mostly he was concerned about attracting the wrong kind of attention.

“You know what happens if we fail translating those old texts right? If we fail to turn up at all?”

“Why do you make it sound like I’m selling the two of you to slavery?” Minseok could come up with worse things.

Jongdae nodded. “The slave camps. The Kai’s army marching into town. Or the Kai could be hunting us down himself, cut us all up to grill our innards for his enjoyment. Take your pick.”

 

His younger sister seemed uncharacteristically supportive.

“Go help them.” She said when she heard the news, sparing a moment to glance up from her bookkeeping. She’d married a merchant, had taken over her husband’s cloth trading business when the man left her with no child and no more than his broken bones picked clean by bandits and vultures alike.

“Build Kai his fortress and then come back home quickly. Avoid getting eaten by the Kai.” She smiled, a little too sharp. “Maybe bring a wife or a husband back?”

Oh. "This is more important than endangering our cousins, I suppose.”

His sister laughed. “You are too discreet to be discovered. Unless you bring down a snowstorm on the Kai’s head. Would you be dancing to protect yourself from bandits, I wonder?”

She threw her hands in the air, palms out, a mockery of one of the warrior’s dances and Minseok hoped his glare was enough to communicate his disapproval. Ice fortresses. Warrior’s dances that change the weather. Myths upon myths upon myths.

“I’d be gutted before I complete a turn.”

She put down her hands. “Yes. You’d better arm yourself well.”

-/-

His sister packed them food (balls of rice with seasoned and fermented cabbage), a bolt of her finest cloth, sword and daggers to protect themselves from roving bandits. They traveled on horseback and reached the capital in five days with only a few setbacks, one in which Jongdae narrowly missed getting eaten alive by a bear. They clearly owe a debt to the contacts of Minseok’s sister. There had been news of a rogue army pillaging the villages near the capital and going through the rugged, bear-infested route the merchants sometimes use turned out to be safer than taking the main roads. 

“This isn’t what I expected.” Joonmyun pulled his scarf up to his noise again, no doubt in reaction to the overpowering smells of the canal water, of something spicy and pungent grilling in the distance. Jongdae stared at a woman with her braid of ink black hair almost reaching her ankles, peddling her basket of freshly-baked raisin bread. They had just walked into the outskirts of the community surrounding the Kai’s palace. At the sight of the low stone and mud houses piled on top of the other, a landslide waiting to happen, Minseok suddenly realized why anyone would think his five-storey town hall of red brick and varnished wood was impressive. 

“So this is it then? Is this like this all the way into the palace?” Jongdae pulled on their horses. He was doing a bad job of avoiding the merchants and the peddlers, jostling to clear a path for both Joonmyun and Minseok.

The palace grounds were cleaner, less crowded.

“Oh, it’s the same.” Joonmyun said as he overlooked the clusters of low stone buildings, which Minseok assumed to be arranged by function: one cluster for the army barracks, another for weaponry, the one that’s the least bare, with a smidgen of black paint, must be the Kai’s residence. 

Their hometown was no beauty either, probably looked just as simple, houses made of wood instead of brick because it was easier to build, easier to expand for when families get bigger. But Minseok understood the disappointment in Joonmyun’s voice. They’ve all read it in the scraps of papers and books kept in their town library, old accounts of the capital’s palace before they’d been taken over by the first Kai during the invasion – impenetrable towers of dark granite, walls of stone so high any slipshod footwork by intruders would result in their deaths.

The Kai’s army had knocked down the walls and destroyed every structure belonging to the old world. This was utilitarian at best. Like the Kai’s only squatting on ancient grounds while they plot for the next piece of land to take over. It was clear that smart architecture could only get you so far compared to sheer overwhelming numbers, compared to complete bloody-mindedness.

“We’ll be helping them improve it anyway.” Minseok said.

-/-

 

For a people known to be bloodthirsty barbarians the Kai’s chief advisor was as docile as they come. Narrow shoulders, hair in a bowl-cut, huge eyes. He stared a little too long at Minseok’s face (or maybe it was just Minseok’s paranoid imagination at work), and then he pulled a reassuring smile as Joonmyun finished their introductions.

“Isn’t he a bit young? And he’s small too. He’s almost hyung’s height.” Jongdae whispered, following the small shuffling steps of Kyungsoo in the long winding corridors. The low stone building looked deceptively small. Once inside, the Kai’s archives had an increasing number of doors and dark corners to get lost in. 

Joonmyun sighed. “At this point I’m rather tired of getting surprised. I’ll hardly have enough energy to blink if he pulls us in a corner and stabs us.”

“That would be counterproductive. Who’ll do the translations?” Kyungsoo called back to them, the two tensing up at the sound of his voice. Kyungsoo caught Minseok’s eye and grinned. “You’ll be all safe here, as long as you don’t outlive your usefulness.”

Minseok has a forgettable face. His sister told him so. Another pale face in the crowd of pale faces. Jongdae’s more distinct with his cheekbones, Joonmyun with his forehead. They all looked alike back in town and the best his features had afforded him was appear a little younger than his age.

Still it didn’t stop Minseok from becoming just a bit nervous he had to harden his voice to reply. “Of course. We’ll work hard.”

 

He caught a glimpse at an odd portrait or two of the old Kai hanging in the archives. Wizened and in his fifties, tanned, not someone built on pure muscle but rather tall, thin, and wiry. Squinted eyes like he had trouble seeing. Yet there was something about the tilt of his smile that would feed Minseok’s nightmares for weeks. A mental image of his sharp white teeth sinking into his scalp, peeling it like an orange, his strong fingers prying his skull apart to feed into the soft flesh inside his head.

Minseok was glad he’d never have to meet him in real life.

 

-/-

 

The stacks – collection of journals, diaries, old books, bits and pieces of documentation that survived the culling during the last invasion – was started as the previous Kai’s pet project until his nephew killed him and took over. Since his death they’ve mostly been gathering dust and mold in the archives.

“The current Kai has an interest in infrastructure.” Kyungsoo informed them, saying the last word like it’s an inside joke and he largely meant something more basic like ‘cool towers’ and ‘dark menacing castles’. The Kai’s army has a reputation for ruthlessness and yet his residence is little more than a hovel. Hardly the stuff of legends. 

“It’s a myth, these ice fortresses that you want us to find.” Minseok said while carefully sorting through his pile of- he didn’t want to know. “It’s impossible to make and maintain in this kind of weather – they’d melt, first thing, and it’s impractical. Better to mine for a good raw material and start building up from there.”

Jongdae raised his hand, looking a little sick. “I have a question and I don’t really want to ask but I know I’ll be poring over all these-“ He gestured at the shelves behind him. “all night and I just- is this book made out of human skin?”

Kyungsoo laughed.

-/-

 

Among the three of them they managed to get through a fair amount of books and journals in a span of two weeks. There was nothing about ice fortresses, anything about the design and build of the legendary granite towers. There was however maps of the city’s old waterways, some random bits and pieces about the foundation and materials of their ancestor’s castles, notes carved into wooden chips about building walls of defense. Jongdae and Joonmyun read as fast as they could while Minseok drew and jotted down measurements.

Kyungsoo never checked up on them in the archives. Rather they handed off their sealed reports to one of Kyungsoo’s trusted guards at the end of the day. It was like working in an entirely closed off world, each translated page weighing in whether they’d be able to go back home in one piece, and the nerves would have killed them off if not for the random visits from one of the locals.

“It’s mostly porn, you know.” The local would say, chewing through a piece of jerky. He was younger than most of the guards, younger even than Minseok’s sister. Bronzed skin and platinum hair. Minseok wondered if the hair color was natural. He’d caught the guy looking over at his face once, speculative, something calculating in his expression. But maybe he hadn’t seen anyone from way up north before. 

“I’d rather not think so but yes.” Joonmyun stood up, exchanged his current book for another one.

“Bad porn.” Jongdae said. “How’d you know anyway?”

The guy swallowed down his jerky. “Whenever I’m bored I come down here to look at the pictures.” He smiled and it transformed his face, now all boyish charm instead of blank indifference. Minseok forced himself to concentrate on the manuscript he’s reading. “Want me to point out all the good ones?”

“Ugh, go away, we’re working here.” Jongdae moaned but Minseok knew Jongdae was trying hard not to laugh, and Joonmyun was already cracking up.

He’d be talking to them about the most inconsequential things. The moldy smell of the stacks, how the three never get tired of curried vegetables (“It’s like the only thing you eat, huh?”), some news of the outside world (“Another village got raided last night.” And they’d all commiserate like old crones.).

When they grew quiet sometimes he’d ask them how they were getting along in their work. Joonmyun would wax lyrical about the evolution of pre-Kai literature minus all the badly written porn. Jongdae would let slip how much he misses home.

Minseok kept to himself. He was not sure if he should share what he knew about the architecture and the layout of the old cities, and most of the other things he found interesting in the stacks were historical accounts of his own people – the rituals, their life stories, the dances. It reminded him of his childhood when his father was still alive, the way he taught him each step, how they danced together in one of the town’s summer festivals. It had been the hottest summer in decades, but his father danced like he could spare all the precious liquids of his body. Like a blessing from the gods it hailed through the night and the whole town woke up to puddles of water in their fields, on their rooftops. All those melted ice. 

There was no definite time the local would drop by. He could arrive by lunch, a little after their food was delivered to the archives, and he’d be munching along with them with his jerky or some disgusting unidentifiable meat; in the afternoons when they were feeling tired he’d bring extra just to taunt them.

“This guy, he doesn’t laugh much at Joonmyun’s jokes.” He pointed the strip of jerky at Minseok.

Jongdae scrunched his nose. “You’re the only one who laughs at Joonmyun-hyung’s jokes.” 

“Hey.”

“And please, take that stuff away from hyung’s face before he gets mad.” 

“Heoong ~” He would try out the syllable, silly smile on his face while he crouched on the space next to Minseok, watching him annotate plans on the floor. “No, you’re wrong. I don’t think he’ll ever get mad at me.”

Minseok thought so too.

-/-

 

The weeks wore on. Days grew longer.

“No ice fortresses?” Kyungsoo greeted them first thing in the morning. The shadow of his stiff robes a looming dark mass on the floor. 

Joonmyun shook his head. He looked pale. They hadn’t been getting out much these days, rushing through their translations. They were only half-finished with the stacks and it was nearly summer. 

“I already told you it was impossible.” Minseok stood up from his place on the floor, picked up the blueprint he was working on. “There are other things you could build.”

Kyungsoo released a long drawn out breath. “The Kai wants his ice fortress. He’s been very adamant about it.”

“He wants it now? We’re scholars and nothing else. We can’t build this ice fortress out of thin air.” Jongdae said.

“It’s a gift for the Kai. I expect you to continue working.” Kyungsoo said and went back outside, carrying out the latest batch of translations and building plans with him.

“His face is a trap isn’t it? He’s actually a flesh-eating barbarian like the rest of them.” Jongdae collapsed back on his seat.

“I still stand by not being surprised when he gets to stab us.” Joonmyun said.

The local boy made no appearance with his curious-smelling jerky and spine-tingling smiles this time, as if he had heard that any kind of distraction at this point was detrimental to them. Minseok wasn’t sure if this was better or worse, seeing his dongsaengs clam up the moment their usual conversations run dry, like there were questions they avoided asking, thoughts that were too potent to voice out.

-/-

 

A strange rustling sound. Minseok blinked. It seemed all three of them had fallen asleep on the warm floors of the stacks, which was a feat in itself with the way they’ve curved their limbs and torsos around the remaining towers of animal skin scrolls they’ve barely started reading. He blinked again. Possible he might still be asleep but this wasn’t one of those nightmares with their headless bodies and the Kai’s shiny white teeth. 

“Bored?” Minseok said. He sat up and felt a twinge in his neck. So not dreaming then.

The shadow sitting by the windows flashed him a heart-stopping grin. Tilted its head in Minseok’s direction until its platinum hair shone in the moonlight. “Couldn’t sleep.” He laughed then, like he just told him some absurd joke. “Imagine that.”

“You look tired though.” Maybe it was the dim lighting or the harsh way the moon caught the sides of his face, drew attention to the hollows of his cheeks. He looked older, almost regal.

“I have a question.”

“I’m listening.” Minseok said.

“What if you are in possession of the most powerful hands in all of the land,” At this the guy gazed down at his own hands, still hidden in shadows, “and there’s a-a- a puppy.”  
Minseok had no idea where this was going. He would have allowed himself a smile if the expression on the guy’s face wasn’t dead serious. “A puppy.”

“A fluffy one. The cutest. And he’s surrounded by, yes, hungry wolves. Wild bears.”

Minseok nodded. “And you want to save this cute puppy?”

“But these hands, they can’t tell the puppy and the wolves apart. No. They don’t. They just destroy everything. You’ll end up killing the wolves AND the puppy if you use them.”

For one, hypothetical or not, Minseok’s sister would have loved those hands. They’d be fewer incidents of lost caravans and overrun trade routes with all the bandits dead. It oddly felt like it would be in bad taste for Minseok to make a joke about it. The strain hadn’t let up in the corners of the boy’s mouth. “I’m sorry I can’t help you. I wouldn't know what to do to save the puppy either.”

The guy sighed. “Got it.” He unfolded himself, slowly, like a sleek cat. His feet moved soundlessly as he stepped over Jongdae’s and Joonmyun’s sleeping bodies, coming to a stop to settle on the floor across Minseok, sitting cross-legged, a small pile of scrolls between them.

“Another question.”

“Okay.”

“It’s the middle of the night, you’re woken up by a stranger and the first thing you do is ask them if they’re bored? Nothing breaks your calm, huh?”

“There’s nothing terrifying about you, Jongin.” The guy perked up at the sound of his name, and Minseok hated it, hated admitting that he knew the name to his face. He could almost hear his sister crowing at the back of his head – _you want this boy, this Jongin, you want to take him back home and build him a house, no, a tower, the biggest in the empire-_

“I want to find the dirtiest picture in the archives,” Jongin began, looking straight at him, “and show it to you now just to see the look on your face.”

Minseok tried not to break eye contact.

Jongin shrugged and looked away. “But then again in this poor lighting I doubt if I’ll ever see anything.”

“I should try coloring my hair like yours. I’ll light the whole place up.” 

Jongin ducked his head. “It was an early present to myself.” He stuck a leg out and poked Minseok’s calf with a cold toe. “You should give me one.”

“Why should I?” Minseok resisted for a second, then grabbed Jongin’s ankle because he kept tapping a distracting beat on his skin.

“Draw me. You’re good with that. I haven’t had my portrait done yet.” His ankle was cold too. Jongin didn’t have the nicest feet – there were calluses on the knuckles of his toes. Minseok had those too so he didn't mind.

“I haven’t tried drawing people yet but I could dance.” Minseok paused, thinking it over. “I could dance for you.”

Jongin smiled, looking his age again. Maybe it had been reckless offering so easily and yet the rapid drumbeat behind his ribs told him otherwise, drowned out what could have been rising panic in his head. “That would be perfect.”

-/-

 

“We must have missed it.” Joonmyun said. Jongdae looked up from his scrolls.

“Maybe it’s mentioned in between all that porn about that farmer fucking his friend’s wife.”

“Or the one with the horses.“ Joonmyun shook his head a little too violently. Minseok felt the same way, would go so far as dip his head in the canal water outside just to be rid of the mental image.

“Both of you need proper sleep. Go on ahead to our rooms and I’ll take care of these.” Minseok gestured at their compiled notes, the large empty leather envelope, his own sketches. “I’ll seal these off and hand it over to our guard.” 

By the time Minseok had finished packing up and stepped out of the dark archives, Kyungsoo was already waiting for him, looking small beside the guard, his hands clasped in front. 

Minseok opened his mouth before Kyungsoo could speak. Shoved the envelope in his direction. “I’ve included drafts about the granite towers and the old palace. It’s not perfect and I may need to think about the design some more but rebuilding it is possible. We can build a better one.” 

“Minseok-“

“On the old maps they’ve marked a place where we could mine steel ores. We just need to have it checked out, melt the ores and use it to reinforce the palace walls.”

Kyungsoo took the envelope from Minseok’s hand. “The Kai expects all three of you to attend his feast tomorrow.”

A stubborn lump in his throat. Minseok coughed. “We need more time.”

Kyungsoo held his gaze. “I’m afraid the Kai would have to make that decision.” 

“I understand.” If only they could run away and not be hunted down like dogs by the Kai’s army. “Please read through my notes. Every page of them.”

“I will.” Kyungsoo nodded.

On the back of his blueprints Minseok had written, over and over: _please spare Joonmyun and Jongdae, anything, please._

-/-

 

They didn’t know it was possible to both appear shabby and overdressed at the Kai’s feast. When they started out their journey to the capital the weather had been colder; they had worn practical, thicker clothes to protect them from the winds, only packed a few plain ones to change into because they hadn’t expected to meet the Kai face-to-face. Now they all stood in one corner of the dining hall, sweating in their long-sleeved robes since it was the middle of summer, and felt out of place with the Kai’s more distinguished guests and their bare arms and more fancy clothing.

“Apparently it’s a feast to celebrate the Kai ascending his throne.” Joonmyun said after eavesdropping in enough conversations that he could make a passable imitation of the other guests. 

“The Kai’s new?” Jongdae asked.

“No, but he’s only been at it for two years. There was great turmoil in the capital when he took over.”

“Explains the long-ass dining table, then.” Jongdae said. “He’s wooing every clan leader he could get his hands on.”

It was better to talk about the other guests. Minseok didn’t want to think about why they had to be in attendance, whether it’s courtesy, a show of the Kai’s gratitude, or an impending punishment for not delivering on his request. 

_The Kai hunting us down. Cut us all up. Grill our innards for his enjoyment._

Maybe they needed a long enough table so that the Kai could fit all three of them on the surface. A buffet of failed scholars.

The crowd fell into a deep quiet and Minseok knew without looking that the Kai had arrived. There was a flash of the previous Kai’s face in his mind, his toothy and terrifying grin, and Minseok had to visibly steel himself for what he might see when he turned to look at the dining hall’s doors.

The smile had his heart stuttering on pure reflex. Then.

“The Kai is a fucking child.” Minseok heard himself whisper.

“Jongin?” Joonmyun said.

“And I just called him an idiot last week.” Jongdae wrung through his sleeves, obviously distressed. “He’s definitely eating my liver now.”

It was Jongin albeit dressed more formally in his stiff coat, starched collars, his platinum hair a sharp contrast to the deep black of his shirt. And no, even on the off-chance they would get out of this alive and well and back in the safety of their own beds Minseok could never ever bring the Kai back home and introduce him to his sister.

He smiled once in their general direction, walked towards the chair at the head of the dining table. Kyungsoo was by his left elbow and a tall guard in the other. Then he schooled his expression into something blank, indifferent. 

“I’m guessing everyone’s hungry from waiting so long.” Nods of agreement all around. “We’ll eat first and then entertain ourselves after. How about it?” The slaves came, blank-faced and silent-footed, bearing heavy trays and wordlessly unloading its contents on the table.

There was a sickening amount of food. Enough to feed a whole village. But even Jongdae and his adventurous taste wouldn't dare touch the breads.

Jongin-the Kai, he’s the Kai now, stopped munching on white meat and took notice. “Jongdae, you don’t like the food?”

Jongdae startled out of his daze. “Uh I’m j-just.” He looked helplessly at Minseok.

“We’re not feeling very hungry at the moment.” Minseok answered for him.

A look of irritation passed over the Kai’s face. Blink and you miss it. “It’s not human meat.” He picked up the flesh and bones on his plate and held it out to them. “Look, this is a bird. White and not red meat. Not a person.”

“Jongdae had eaten a lot before we came. My apologies. We did not mean to offend the Kai’s taste.” For good measure Minseok reached over for the dish of curried potatoes by Jongdae’s elbow and dumped half of its contents on his own plate. 

The Kai leaned back into his seat with his lips clamped shut. He looked like he’d be sulking his way to the end of dinner.

-/-

 

Jongdae had been wrong about the Kai wooing the clan leaders. In fact as they finished dinner and plates and dishes were cleared away, long tables pushed to the sides to make some space in the middle of the hall, it was the exact opposite. The Kai took his place in front, sitting himself in a plush seat up the dais, and the clan leaders strung themselves along the length of the hall, the longest and most colorful human banner in the entirety of the empire.

“It’s a procession.” Joonmyun watched as one by one the leaders presented their gifts. Gold. New slaves. Musical instruments made from the rarest of wood. Minseok clutched at the bolt of cloth under his arm. They’d brought it with them all the way to the capital, stowed under the beds in their rooms, the best and the prettiest cloth in the storehouse of Minseok’s sister, and had simply forgotten to hand it over to Kyungsoo when they arrived. Now there was opportunity to give it personally to the Kai but it hardly seemed enough now. 

“Are we going to be okay, hyung?” Jongdae in turn gripped at his free sleeve. 

“It’ll be fine.” He wanted to puke the potatoes out, his guts out, everything.

The man in line before them played a song with his stringed instrument and at this distance Minseok could tell that the Kai was getting bored, the man more sweaty and increasingly prone to mistakes, and that the tall guard by the Kai’s right shoulder was restlessly moving his sword arm like he’d strike the man down any minute now. The song fortunately came to its natural end and the man released a breath of relief. He slinked back to the sides of the dining hall, whole and completely alive.

Joonmyun cleared his throat and Minseok felt the Kai’s heavy gaze on him. He and Jongdae unrolled their bolt of cloth for everyone to see and like a voice coming from a mountain far away, Minseok could hear Joonmyun introducing their names, the name of their town, the make of the cloth-

“It’s a pretty color.” The Kai conceded, finger tapping his chin. He had his blank and indifferent mask on. “But this isn’t what I asked for, you know that.”

Minseok held onto the cloth, let the solidity of Jongdae at his side ground him. “I’m sure the chief advisor has informed you of our difficulties. But I've provided other blueprints that would do as well.”

The Kai leaned forward from his seat. “You’ve helped built something before. A town hall. A house or two maybe.”

“Yes.”

“You know how long it takes. Imagine a castle, fortified walls to enclose whole villages. It would take months, years, to build that. They’d all be dead by then at the rate these bandits are going.”

Minseok tried hard not to blink. “It’s a fucking myth for a reason. You’re asking for a miracle we can’t provide.”

“Hyung.” Joonmyun pulled at his arm. The hall had gone dead quiet and Minseok hadn’t realized he’d been shouting. 

Kyungsoo coughed and gave a signal to the idle slaves. They took away the cloth from Jongdae’s and Minseok’s hands and suddenly he felt incredibly exposed and vulnerable. It would be spineless of him to fall down on his knees and beg for his life just as he’d finished cursing at the Kai. But his dongsaengs lives were in his hands too and everything had gone cat’s piss and shit and he should fix this.

“Let me make it up with another gift. At least, for my dongsaeng’s sakes.” 

The Kai lost the tightness around his mouth if only for a second. “I do remember you promising to dance for me.”

He’d promised a dance to Jongin, to his weird predilection for jerky and meat, to his sweet smiles. This was the Kai. “It’s something a little different.”

-/-

 

The Kai gave him half an hour to prepare.

He slipped off his shoes, let Jongdae help him out of his robe, and left only his thin undershirt on. The sleeves would only get in the way and he preferred doing this with bare arms. Joonmyun ran back to their rooms as fast as his feet could take him while the rest of the procession went on and then came back with loose pants that fit. 

“You can do it, hyung, we watched you during the festivals last year and you were amazing with Yixing.” Jongdae said. It was amazing because Yixing had been amazing, and they’d practiced their entire routine until they dropped dead in the sand, body aching but happy. He was doing this alone though. It’s a dance that he knows like the back of his hand, yes, but he hasn’t performed it in front of anyone since both of his parents died. Only his sister would recognize the steps for what they were.

His father once said that warrior’s dances were always impressive to watch if done right. He only hoped it impresses the Kai enough to give all three of them another chance. 

The man with the stringed instrument and some slave with a talent for playing the drums sat cross-legged at the bottom of the dais just as Minseok finished his preparations. He’d given them the beat and nothing else. It’s all he had ever needed really. The tiles were cold under his bare feet and he worried about sweating too much and slipping – he’d been used to dancing in hard packed dirt or over the soft carpeted floors in the house he shared with his sister, and the smallest of mistakes might throw him off the rest of the way. 

The Kai was watching him. Waiting. No time to worry.

_First, bow to your comrades,_ his father whispered in his head, clear and strong like he was there behind him. Minseok turned to Jongdae and Joonmyun and ignored the terrified expressions on their faces.

_Then to your enemies._ He faced the dais. Once, Minseok bowed in the direction of his sister at this part, a small joke. He’d been made to kneel on salt and dried beans all night after. _Bow to your enemies because they’ll be sorry when you finish._ His ancestors were a proud people, though in the heat of combat they always managed to pay respects to everyone. All manner of life was sacred, even if they meant to take it away from their enemies.

Minseok looked at the Kai, at Jongin’s soft face, and bowed deeply.

The first boom of the drums came like thunder and Minseok turned both his palms outward to welcome the sound, the first stance, the easiest one, and in which everything that followed would be controlled and decisive and painful. His mind emptied itself out. His foot followed the fall of drums, his arms cutting through air, the scuttle of the strings seemed to pull his body forward. When he spun, the whole world seemed to fall away from him.

His right foot slipped on some wet patch halfway through the dance. It threw Minseok’s balance off enough that when he made the next leap he had to overcompensate, forced the offending foot to take all the weight, and knew in the end that his ankle hadn't taken too kindly to the pressure. The mistake wasn't noticeable enough for a casual viewer. But Jongin had his own calluses on his foot just like Minseok’s and he’d been watching.

Minseok chanced a look up the dais and the Kai-

-a rush of air by his left ear and Minseok rolled away. The Kai stood barefoot on the floor just a few feet away from him, his coat off, the expression on his face unreadable. Minseok was confused. The drums were beating louder in his ears.

“Don’t go missing the beat now, hyung.” Jongin had gotten the pronunciation right at last. Jongin had the Kai’s face. The strings went on high, screeching, and the Kai came after him.

“This isn’t-“ Minseok parried the arm swinging at him. He’d always thought Jongin was graceful in his movements – curling up by the windows, walking over their piles of unread texts, crouching next to him. Even in this Jongin was sleek, beautiful, deadly and precise as a wielded blade. The Kai circled around him, lifting his knee. He aimed for Minseok’s head. Minseok bent down on the floor, gritting his teeth at the protesting pain in his ankle. 

“Which part of this is dancing?!” The Kai’s hand coming towards him. Minseok hadn’t moved far enough and the Kai’s nails had scratched him across the cheek. Longer limbs, longer reach. Cat’s piss and shit.

The Kai was laughing and he had Jongin’s face. “Everything. Hyung, try to keep up.” The slave hit the drums like a madman on the run.

Don’t think. Considering every movement cost him his reflex. He knew this, all the parrying and dodging and attacking were part of his body’s vocabulary. Just another dance, another dance partner. Except it was the boy from the stacks. Except it was the Kai who’ll eat them alive. Minseok caught one of the Kai’s knees in mid-kick, kicking back at him, and when the Kai lost his balance Minseok could almost laugh back.

The drums crashed in a final resounding boom. Both the Kai and Minseok were in a standstill, face-to-face, breathing hard. Sweat was pouring all over them. Minseok had missed blocking one of the Kai’s hands and his neck hurt.

“If I was armed,” the Kai squeezed the back of his neck and Minseok closed his eyes, a shiver betraying the rest of his body. “hyung would be headless by now.” It was possible Minseok had stopped breathing altogether. Too close he could feel Jongin’s warm breath wafting over his cheeks.

Minseok could feel the sweat bleeding through Jongin’s dark shirt. He had both of his hands shoved at the Kai’s chest, about to push him back. “And if I had my dagger, the Kai would have a hole where his heart should be.” He let his hands fall to his side. The Kai blinked at him and with reluctance let go of Minseok’s neck, took a slow step back.

“Fair enough.”

From a distance there was a rumbling sound like a coming storm.

-/-

 

The Kai’s feast lasted for three full days. On the third day it was still snowing heavily that some of the guests stayed on and waited for safer weather. Everything was buried in a thick layer of white – the streets, the low stone houses, the dirty canals – and for once the capital looked pristine, washed clean.  
Minseok stood by the windows of the stacks, nursing a cup of something warm, watching the continuous snowfall. He didn’t turn his head at the soft footsteps behind him. There was nowhere to run after all.

“Hyung, back to reading? Did you miss working that much?” Jongin leaned by the window, also with a filled cup of his own in his hand. Something red. He’d changed out of his dark shirt. No stiff collars this time or heavy coat. He looked like his soft and sweet Jongin again and Minseok wanted to smash his head against the windows. He settled for leaning his forehead against it and letting his breath fog its surface.

“Snowstorm in the middle of the summer. It’s pretty impressive.”

Minseok turned to look at him. “Did you know?” 

Jongin took a sip from his cup, his lips crimson red in the gray light. “The royal line had died out many decades ago according to the books Kyungsoo read. My uncle and his predecessor made sure of it. Probably too easy for uncle. Kyungsoo said they have a distinct feature, easy to spot when you see one.” He shrugged. “But my uncle wasn't immune to mistakes. He let his guard down a number of times.”

The seat of the Kai wasn't passed through kin but through bloodshed. Minseok once read it in the books back at home. He’d forgotten about that. Did Jongin do it in his uncle’s sleep like a coward? Or did he smile at him, just like he did to Minseok, and then twisted a knife in his heart? 

Minseok put down his cup. In case something else happens he didn't want some sweet drink sloshed all over his body, at the books of the stacks. It’d be a waste.

The Kai stepped closer to him, reached out a hand. “Sometimes I wonder if you don’t know your own face.” Minseok closed his eyes, trying not to flinch when the Kai’s hand grazed his cheek, touched his brow, the pads of the Kai’s fingers skimming and lingering at the soft skin of his eyelids. What about his face? 

The Kai gripped his chin. Minseok opened his eyes, watched the Kai drink from his cup, and stood absolutely still.

The Kai pressed his mouth to Minseok’s. The warm wine was leaking, dripping at the corners of Minseok’s mouth, down his jaw, at the line of his neck. _It’s going to stain_ was what Minseok told himself as he finally parted his lips and took the wine, kissing back, tasting Jongin. The Kai bit at Minseok’s lower lip, kissed his chin, licked away the last traces of wine from Minseok’s jaw down to the base of his neck. 

Avoid getting eaten by the Kai, his sister said. Minseok wasn’t feeling very sorry. 

Jongin was trembling. Minseok stood unclasping his hand slowly from the back of the Kai’s neck but didn’t move away. “Thank you for saving the puppy.” Jongin said. Maybe it was the wine or the kiss. Minseok felt dizzy himself, confused. “Thank you.”

He didn’t understand even half of what was going on but he had to make sure. “Joonmyun and Jongdae.”

“They’ll be safe. No harm would come to them if the whole empire could help it.” The Kai hadn’t loosened his grip on his shoulders. “I can’t let them come home though.”

Minseok already knew this sometime ago, halfway through doing the translations in this very same room. “And me?”

“You’re my prisoner.” Minseok felt the lurch at the pit of his stomach and wasn’t sure if he thought the idea entirely unpleasant or something else. “Or Kyungsoo could contract you into doing reconstruction with us. Maybe you could teach me how to dance.” Jongin said.

When Jongdae came back to their rooms, having braved the snow in ten different layers of clothing to venture outside the palace grounds and get freshly baked raisin breads, he’d also brought along market gossip with him: the unlikeliness of a summer snowstorm, the Kai having powers like those of a god, the frozen bodies of the two hundred or so rogues camping outside of the villages. They were still lying on the ground with their thin sleeping blankets on, like they’d been touched by frost in their sleep.

 

(He and the Kai didn’t actually get to the dancing. They didn’t even quite make it to the Kai’s bed.

“Hyung.” The syllable was drawn out like a whine as Jongin scrabbled at the clasp holding Minseok’s robe together. Minseok ignored it, held down Jongin’s hands on the soft carpeted floor, and kept licking at the fascinating dip of Jongin’s collarbone, and maybe somehow Minseok was the flesh-eater all along, not the Kai, because he liked the sweet-salty taste of his skin.

“Get these clothes off, hyung. Stop cheating and get naked. I want to see you.” Robe, undershirt, pants on the floor. Jongin’s hands skated over his stomach, his ribs, the muscles of his chest. Jongin’s already hard, pressed up against him, inexpertly rutting and seeking friction against the strip of sweaty skin at Minseok’s hip and Minseok has this sudden overwhelming urge to taste him. 

He pushed the Kai back in the carpet, kissed his way down past his navel, a preemptive lick at Jongin’s’ swollen cockhead and then he took him in his mouth, watching Jongin’s wide-eyed stare. 

“You have the prettiest mouth.” The Kai said, touching the corners of Minseok’s stretched lips, trying to thrust up from under him. Minseok was holding down Jongin’s hips, swirling his tongue at the sensitive underside of his cock. “No, not like this.” He tugged on Minseok’s arm, pulling him up until he was within kissing distance again. Minseok took both of their cocks in his hands instead and thrust back, giving as much friction Jongin needs.

“When hyung is no longer terrified of me,” The Kai breathed into his neck. Minseok tightened the ring of his slick hands.

“What?”

“I want- I want.” Minseok on the carpet, the Kai bearing down on him, and their rhythm was off and Minseok couldn't take control of it. The Kai looked at their cocks sliding against each other, wet, their movements erratic. “Hyung, let me take you. Fuck you against the shelf in the stacks.” Jongin gasped. Minseok hid his face in the crook of Jongin’s neck, going incredibly red beyond belief. “I want to see if you have the same expression when you dance-“

Minseok tilted his face up and caught the Kai’s bottom lip. Tried to kiss him to silence.

“I wanted to take you right there on the floor of the dining hall. Open you up slowly with my fingers. With my tongue.” It was not working. Minseok squirmed and quickened his strokes on them both, let the Kai grab his ass and pull themselves tight around each other. “I want to see you break. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, hyung. Please.”

“I’m not- I’m not scared of you.” Half-truth. But Minseok allowed the Kai to bite into the meat of his shoulder when Jongin came messily between them, spilling himself all over their thighs, at Minseok’s belly. Minseok came shortly after with the Kai jerking him fast and hard it was almost painful, Jongin kissing him filthy in the mouth. The Kai cleaned him up by licking cum between his fingers and Minseok willed himself not to get hard again so fast.

 

In bed, Jongin playfully poked at the softness of Minseok’s tummy. “You are what you eat. All mushy overcooked white potatoes.” Minseok turned his head towards him.

“If I’m a potato, you are?”

Jongin looked at some indeterminate point over Minseok’s bare shoulder. “The Kai, of course. You of all people should know about preserving traditions.”)

-/-

 

Kyungsoo allowed them to send letters home after the snowstorm passed. It was almost too hot again, steam rising from the dirtiest of canal water, and they kept smudging the ink with their sweat. Jongdae penned a letter of farewell to his parents, citing reasons of wanting to see more of the world or some other vague thing. His letter had the most number of smudges out of all three. Joonmyun kept his goodbye simple and short. Everyone back in town knew that Joonmyun was always meant for bigger things, and was most likely to leave town and never come back.

Minseok hadn't told the Kai nor Kyungsoo about his sister so he started addressing his letter as if he would address his landlady - by her married name, formal, succinct. _I won’t be coming home for a long while,_ he wrote down, struggling to stay impersonal. Kyungsoo would be reading through all of their letters, checking if they were leaking any secrets. _You can rent out my room, put my things to storage or sell them. I’m caught in the middle of a snowstorm, the worst in the century,_ and he remembered the Kai’s platinum hair and how it looked like in the moonlight. _It would take me some time to get out._

He signed it with his real name, the name his ancestors had given him, Xiumin, so his sister would know that he was caught and she might need to run. He could at least give her a warning. 

 

The End.

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted. Edited a bit from the original but still self-beta'd. Thank you for reading!


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